


French Fashions, Fickleness and Fire

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fire, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 09:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Draco enjoyed his routine life in Paris.  But when Pansy asks him to model for her fiances' fashion show, he had no choice but to say yes.Or the one where Potter is so hot, Draco's pants literally catch on fire.





	French Fashions, Fickleness and Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookywoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/gifts).



Draco boarded the train at the same time every morning.  He valued his routine; a quick run around his arrondissement, followed by morning coffee on the small patio off his garden-facing flat.  A shower, followed by putting on his pressed clothes, and he was out the door.  He walked to the station at exactly 7:29, hopping on the métro, arriving at his office in under thirty minutes.  

The consistency suited him.  Even in school, he loved knowing that breakfast was at the same time in the great hall, that potions was always in the same classroom, that his bed would be perfectly made, sheets cool as he climbed in every night.  

When the Dark Lord took residence at the manor, Draco’s schedule had been destroyed - along with everything else.  After the war, the Malfoys retreated to France in hopes of restarting their lives. Draco wasn’t able to visit his father in Azkaban, but he was able to write, and the small box of letters he kept under his bed were one of his most prized possessions.  

He arrived to the station that morning perfectly on time, and took a seat near the window.  Draco opened his book, a fictitious tale about a zombie girl who worked in a morgue, giving her access to all the brains she could potentially want, when he saw a familiar glimpse of raven hair.

 _Potter_ , he thought as he stared into the back of the stranger’s head.  The coloring was similar, but the strands laid flat, combed wet, exactly the opposite of the haphazard locks he knew from school.

Draco knew it wasn’t, knew it couldn’t be Potter.  The last time he had talked to Pansy, she mentioned Potter was working his way up in the Auror department, that he would probably become Head Auror over the next few years.  He had no reason to be in Paris, no reason to be on a muggle train, not when he could floo, or fly, or Apparate wherever he pleased.

Still, Draco stared, remembering the locks that he used to watch so often, wondering if the stranger’s hair would feel soft entwined in his fingers.  Even though he couldn’t see his face, Draco imagined the muggle with thick-rimmed frames, plush red lips, a lightning scar.

He hadn’t thought about that scar.  Not since the last time he saw Potter.  Not since the last time he kissed Potter.

His mind wandered to that night, when he had taken the long train ride from Gare du Norde to St. Pancras International, walking the rest of the way to Pansy and Luna’s flat.  The two had met when Pansy started writing for the Quibbler travel section, and Luna loved to join her in her journeys to gain inspiration for her latest fashion line. He was happy for them; the newly engaged couple were so obviously in love, and Draco was pleased to be among the family and friends that came out to celebrate the momentous occasion.

He thought about Potter, in his tight jeans and black shirt, tipsy from the red wine he’d been refilling with a modified Aguamenti.  He thought about the look he’d felt burning against his skin the whole night, the things they needed to say, the things they should say.  He thought about how their lips touched, Potter’s so soft against his own, when they chose not to say anything at all.

The train paused three more times before Draco realized he’d missed his stop.

\--

He received an owl shortly after lunch.   

> _D,_
> 
> _A bunch of us are coming down early for Luna’s show.  Join us, tomorrow, L’Ange. I know it’s a Thursday. You better be there._
> 
> _P_

It had been over a year since he’d seen Pansy, and even longer since he’d talked to Luna.  It was one of the downfalls of living in a different city, in a different country, than the friends he held dear.  He itched to see the couple, curious as to what Luna’s latest creations entailed, and what new, exotic places Pansy had traveled to.  

Still, he couldn’t imagine going out on a Thursday night.  He usually reserved the night for combing over his files, making sure everything was organized before the weekend set in.  If he stayed up late, he’d be a disaster on Friday morning, which would just set off his weekend completely.

Besides, he knew he’d be out late on Friday.  He had been coerced by Pansy to model, to wear Luna’s creations and walk the runway, lending his lithe frame to display one of her designs.

He wrote Pansy back, apologizing for missing their impromptu dinner, but promising he’d be at the show, on time as usual, and asking if they could get tea later in the weekend at a more appropriate hour.

Draco wasn’t surprised by the swift return of her owl, nor the patronizing tone the black ink seemed to infer. 

> _D,_
> 
> _You will be there.  You’re 30, not 75. Get off your arse._
> 
> _Potter’s arse will be there too._
> 
> _P_

Could it have been Potter he saw on the train? He thought about the stranger with the raven hair as he pulled himself off that night, his skin rippling in goosebumps against the consistently cool sheets.

\--

The next morning, Draco convinced himself that he was just nervous about seeing Pansy after all this time, and that was why he woke up early, tacking on an extra mile to his morning run.  He surmised that since Pansy was in fashion, he needed to dress his best, and that was the only reason he was donning his favorite shirt and waistcoat, the one he normally reserved for important meetings with upper management.  It definitely wasn’t because Harry said grey brought out the colour of his eyes once. He added a Burberry scarf and Ralph Lauren coat to fight the winter chill.

Draco arrived at the station five minutes early, blaming his quick pace on extra strong coffee, assuring himself that it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the Potter-muggle might be on the train again.  He stood awkwardly on the platform, shuffling his messenger bag from his right hip to his left, as his eyes scanned his surroundings.

Even though he hadn’t been looking for the man, not one bit, his eyes still widened when raven hair came into view.  He took in the chiseled face, the dark curls, that damned scar.

Potter, standing on the platform, waiting for the train.  Staring openly at Draco Malfoy.

Draco averted his eyes, fixating instead on a dirty sticker stuck to the cement floor.  He grimaced at the Manchester United seal, curling up on the sides with grime and dust. Serves them right, the clots.  Liverpool would win the next cup, no doubt.

He was forcing his mind to remember the last match of Liverpool v. United when he heard a small cough to his right.  Draco didn’t need to turn to know who that cough belonged to.

“Potter,” he sighed, adjusting his bag once more.  He wondered when the train would arrive already.

“Malfoy,” Potter responded, and Draco was surprised by the lack of disdain he heard in Potter’s voice.  “It’s delayed. Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

“If I had heard it, I wouldn’t be standing on this bloody platform, now would I,” he spat, already trying to figure out when the next train would arrive.  He could still try and catch the 7 and switch over to the 9, but that would put him at least an hour behind schedule.

If only he could Apparate, he’d be there perfectly on time.  But he couldn’t. No Apparition, no flying, no flooing. _No escaping_.  Potter knew this.  He was there for his trial, was there to see the hammer come down on him and his magic.  

Draco stared incredulously at the man next to him, the man who looked so casual, so unfrazzled, so incredibly normal.  The man who had no business being here, in a muggle transportation station, in a different bloody country.

Draco’s felt his face heat when his grey eyes met green.

“Want to walk?  It’s nice out,” Harry suggested, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“Fine,” he grunted.  He’d be late for work anyway, and the extra cardio would be nice.  “I’m headed to-”

“I know.  I’m headed that way as well.”

“Stalking me again, Potter?”  Draco smirked, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck.

“You wish,” he grinned as they headed up the stairs into the morning sunlight.

\--

The two men walked quickly down to the Seine, making a right once they reached the river.  The trees were bare, the last of the leaves crumbled into mulch below their feet. Draco focused on the passing boats, muttering about the cold as he dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.  

“So, what’s new with you?” Harry asked, his breath releasing little puffs of vapor into the chilly air.  The tips of his ears were already pink, and Draco fought the instinct to wrap his own scarf around Potter’s neck.  He dug his hands deeper into his coat instead.

“Nothing has changed.  I work, I go home. I cook dinner, read a book.  Then the next day I do it all over again.” Draco enjoyed his life, but when he said it out loud, his routine sounded utterly boring.

Harry just nodded, his eyes fixated on the path ahead.  Draco took the opportunity to stare at his profile, noticing his firm build and broad shoulders.  

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

“A little of this, a little of that.”

“That’s rather vague,” Draco sneered, the wind nipping against his nose.  He adjusted his scarf.

“Yes, it is,” Harry responded simply.  

They walked in silence, reaching the edge of the bridge.  Harry turned to walk across the Seine, and Draco dutifully followed.  After all, they were still headed in the direction of his office.

The traffic was louder, and Draco found himself immersed in the sounds of motorists whipping past, horns honking as bikers wove in and out of traffic.  It wasn’t until they reached the other side of the bridge that Draco realized Harry was looking at him.

“What, Potter?”

Harry froze, his eyes focused.  Draco tapped his foot impatiently.

“That night, at Pansy’s,” Harry started.

“Don’t even start.  We were drunk. That’s all it was.”

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Yes, well, I was,” Draco answered, blaming the chilly air for the redness in his cheeks.  He knew that night hadn’t meant anything, especially not to Potter. If it had, surely he would have owled.  That’s what any proper gentleman would have done.

Not that Potter knew how to be a proper gentleman.

Draco watched as Potters face fell, his eyes shifting from left to right, anywhere but Draco’s own.  They continued to walk, Draco’s pace suddenly hurried. He felt anxious and ready to be at his office, as far away from Potter and the memory of that night as  he could be.

They reached the entrance to Draco’s building, and Harry paused, shuffling from side to side.  

“So, I’ll see you at dinner?”

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“Right. Well then,” Harry nodded, as he spun around to leave.

“Wait, Potter,” Draco asked suddenly, his voice sounding urgent.

Harry paused, raising his eyebrows.

“Why were you waiting for the train?”

“I don’t really use magic anymore,” Harry shrugged, as if that statement made the most sense, and didn’t just turn Draco’s world on its axis.

Before Draco could think of a response, Harry quickly walked away.

\--

Draco shuffled the various pieces of parchment on his desk.  He’d been staring at them for the last hour, and still had no idea what any of them said.

All he could concentrate on was Potter.  Potter, not using magic.

_When had it happened?  What had caused him to toss aside something that he loved, that he was so bloody good at?_

Draco felt so lost without his magic.  He couldn’t use magical transport or defend himself.  He couldn’t even _scorgify_ , unable to use any spells over a first year.  It was like a portion of his soul was bound by chains, weighing down almost everything he did, suffocating who he was.  

And Potter was throwing his away, willingly discarding his magic as if it was a scrap of paper, a receipt for a meal long devoured.

He owled Pansy immediately, begging her and Luna to meet him for lunch, despite the early hour.

“Draco!” Pansy rushed into his office, throwing her arms around his neck.  “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.”

“Yes, yes, I missed you too, Pans,” he cringed.  Draco never was quite used to touching, especially at his workplace, surrounded by his colleagues who probably, and rightfully, assumed he had no friends and no social life outside of its doors.

“Where’s Luna?” Draco glanced towards the empty entryway.

“She’s admiring the plants on your building.  You know, always finding inspiration and whatnot.

Draco understood; he had spent many an afternoon tea admiring the intricate plant design of Blanc’s _Le Mur Vegetal_.  

“I saw Potter this morning -”

“Did you now?” Her voice ticked awkwardly.

“What’s he doing here?”

“Modeling for Luna’s show, just like you.  Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Of course I didn’t, and stop changing the subject.  What’s this about him not doing magic?”

“Oh.  He mentioned that, did he.” Pansy responded flatly.

“Yes, he _bloody_ mentioned that.  Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco asked incredulously.

“You told me not to talk to you about Potter.”

 _Fuck._ Draco remembered screaming that at Pansy the morning after her party, the morning after their kiss.  He had blamed Pansy for the intoxicating wine, for the loud music, for the close proximity that were all to blame for him kissing Potter.  He realized with a clench to his heart that it had been the last time he had seen his best friend in the flesh.

No wonder she was so relieved to receive his owl today.

“Look, Draco,  it’s not my story to tell.  Why don’t you ask Potter yourself, tonight.  At dinner. The dinner you’re still coming to, right?”

Draco’s face softened.  

“Of course, Pans.  Wouldn’t miss your dinner for the world.”

\--

Draco was a mess come dinner.

He had already changed his clothes three times, not sure whether the red jumper would be too bright in the restaurant, or if the shirt would be perceived as ‘too casual.’  He wanted to come across as cool, aloof, as if he hadn’t been nervously running his hands through his hair all afternoon. As if his eyes hadn’t been glancing at the tempus every five minutes.  

He was furious with himself when he arrived at the restaurant 10 minutes late, forcing himself to not run all the way, so as not to mess up his immaculate clothing.

Luna tapped the seat next to her at the table, directly across from Potter.

“Wine?” she asked, holding up a bottle of white.

He covered his glass with his hand, and gave Luna an appreciative nod.  Draco could feel Harry’s eyes on him from across the table, but he decided to focus on the game on the telly instead.

It was easier to ignore Potter than he expected it would be.  Liverpool was up 3, and Everton had no chance of recovery.

In fact, it wasn’t until after their mains, when Luna and Pansy snuck off to the loo together, that Draco was finally forced to acknowledge the presence of one, Harry James Potter.

“Well?” he glowered from across the table.

“Nice to see you too, Malfoy.”

Draco folded his arms across his chest.  He was annoyed; annoyed that Pansy had dragged him to this awful restaurant, and annoyed that Potter looked so bloody good in the horrible fluorescent lights. He could only imagine his own washed-out skin contrasted with the jumper that had looked amazing back at his flat but now looked like a wrinkled mess.  

He was annoyed even more, that he had to force himself to ask the next question.

“Why the fuck aren’t you using your magic?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just bloody tell me.  Friends tell each other their _secrets_ ,” he added.

“Are we friends?” Harry mumbled.  “I thought we might be more.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Harry waved his hand nonchalantly.  “You know exactly what I mean, _Draco._  We had a good time, at that party.  And then, after our -, well, you just fled.”

“I went home, Potter.  What, because I didn’t fuck the beautiful Boy Who Lived, I fled?  That’s rich.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed as Draco’s words echoed around the restaurant.  

“That’s not what I said,” Harry whispered, his head leaning closer to Draco, urging him to keep his voice at a reasonable decibel.

“Well, you’re not really saying much,” Draco grumbled.  “Owls work both ways, you know. I don’t recall seeing your tawny at my window the next day.”  He balled up his napkin and tossed it over his empty plate. “I don’t give a shit why you would stop using something you’re so bloody talented at, Potter.  Do tell the ladies I said goodnight when they’re done fucking in the loo.”

Draco pushed back his chair, scraping the footings along the tile floor.  He wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck, and ran out the door.

“What was that about?” Pansy asked, approaching the table.  She was carefully wiping scarlet lipstick off of her jaw. Luna followed, looking equally flushed.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged.  “Draco called me beautiful and talented, and then he stormed out.”

“Seems about right,” Pansy smiled, waving down the server.  “Dessert, Harry?”

\--

Draco knew as soon as he woke up the next morning that the day was going to be utter bollocks..  The sun was already shining bright through his window, and a check of his tempus revealed the time as 7:10am.  

 _Shit_ , he thought as he gathered his clothes, cursing the fact that he would barely have time for a quick cleansing charm before he had to catch the train.  

At work, it seemed like everything was falling apart.  He couldn’t find the Mendleson file, despite having worked on it just yesterday, and the Potion he was testing somehow had a crack in the vial.  His delicate concoction had been slowly dripping throughout the entire evening before, leaving a crater in the wood below the stand. He was unable to pack his lunch, and had to venture to the market around the corner for a panini and a coffee.

 _This is exactly why I do not go out on a weekday,_ he cursed to himself, anger building at Pansy once again.

Of course, it was Friday.  The day he was supposed to be walking down the runway at Luna’s show.  The last thing he wanted to do was mess up his routine again. He owled Pansy as such.

“Oh no you don’t,” Pansy entered his floor, voice echoing with a vengeance.  He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that she would show up at his office again.  She never could take no for an answer.

“Pansy, keep it down, will you?”  

“I will not, Draco Malfoy,” she said, her voice growing louder with every syllable.  “You will model at my fiance's show, like you promised months ago, and you will act like the mature adult and best friend that I know you can be.”

Draco crossed his arms tightly around his chest.  “But -”

“No buts.  You will do this for us.  It’s not my fault or his that you’re a right git and can’t figure out what’s happening.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?  You tell me right now, Pansy, or I swear I will...”

Pansy raised her eyebrows.  “Hex me? You can’t. That’s the point, Draco.  You can’t, so he won’t.”

With that, she turned and walked out the door, throwing a final, ‘See you tonight, 6 sharp’ in her wake.

\--

Draco studied his figure in the mirror.  The silver suit sparkled brightly against his pale complexion, and he marveled at the hand-stitched creatures that adorned each side.

A dark-green dragon nestled along the left lapel, smoke issuing from his nose every time Draco advanced forward.  The scales rippled upward, towards the dragon’s spiked tail that ran the length of his collar, disappearing behind his neck.  The other lapel held a bright-red phoenix, his long tail of feathers splayed upwards, and curling with the dragon’s tail.

He pulled at the sleeves, admiring the tailored fit despite only owling Luna his measurements a month prior.  

The suit fit him perfectly, but he still couldn’t stop pacing.  He needed to look perfect, better than any other bloke at the show.  Better than Potter.

His mind wandered back to Potter, to the restaurant the night before.  It felt good to fight with him again, in a weird nostalgic kind of way.  He thought about how his mouth looked, saying that he thought they were _more._ How his jumper hugged his shoulders.  How his chest rippled beneath the fabric.

He thought about Potter and his lips, red-stained from the wine, puffy from him tugging them against his teeth as he fought to say something, anything, nothing at all.

He was still thinking about Potter when he added his Slytherin cufflinks and cast the tempus, cursing the time.

“I cannot believe you’re late.” Pansy chastised as Draco tore through the backstage.  “Stop, let me look at you.”

Pansy took a moment to comb a perfectly manicured hand through his white-blond hair before she screamed, “Now get up there, you arsehole.  Go, go!”

He stumbled onto the base of the stage, taking only a moment to collect himself before he walked down the runway.  Despite his late attendance, he knew he looked good, all legs, shoulders rolled back, straight spine. He felt confident, the dragon releasing little puffs of smoke with each stride, the phoenix rustling its feathers as his hips rolled.

He made his turn, adding in a slight hip jab at the end of the runway, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Potter was walking towards him, looking like a god among men.

His suit was emerald green, causing his eyes to practically glow as he walked the runway, as he walked toward Draco.  He couldn’t help but admire the cut of the suit, the way the jacket fit his frame, the way his trousers curved and hugged every inch of his body.  

It wasn’t until he was closer, close enough for Potter to murmur, “Okay, Malfoy?” that Draco noticed the lilies dancing along the fabric.  He stuttered quickly before he began to walk back, his cheeks red with the embarrassment of stopping short, of getting caught staring at Potter.

It was a relief when he finally passed through the curtains.  He paused a moment to collect himself as he leaned against the backstage wall.

When Potter crossed over the threshold, he realized how little he had truly calmed down.

“What the bloody fuck, Potter?” He turned on him instantly. “Think you can just stroll up there with your perfect hair and your perfect figure and just steal the show from me?”

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“Of course, Auror Potter with his chiseled figure and, what the fuck did you do to your hair?”

“Product?  Hermione lent me some.”

“Would you two just shut it?”  Pansy screamed, grabbing their arms.  She dragged both men backward, before flinging them into a nearby broom closet like ragdolls.

“You are ruining one of the most important nights of my love’s life.  Now stay in here and work out whatever you could possibly have to fight about.”

With that, Pansy slammed the door, filling the small space with darkness.

Artwork donated by [@rainsoakedhello](https://rainsoakedhello.tumblr.com/)

\--

“Bloody hell,” Draco cursed as he tried to turn the knob with no avail.  “That bint locked us in here.”

“Could you cast a _lumos?_ ”

“Why don’t you cast it yourself, Potter? It’s just a little bit of dark.”

“I don’t really like small spaces,” Harry admitted begrudgingly. “And I told you, I’m off magic.”

“You keep saying that, like it’s a perfectly normal and valid statement.” Draco rolled his eyes so hard that Harry could hear it in the darkness.

“It is a valid statement.  Why would I want to use something that can be taken away without any cause?” Harry said blandly.

Draco pursed his lips.  “I knew it. You’re such a fucking martyr, huh, Potter?  Standing up for the little guy, for what you feel is right?  They took away my magic because of this!”

Draco pushed up his sleeve.  He realised after a beat that it was pointless.  

“Because of what?  It’s pitch black, Draco.  I can’t see shit.”

“Yes, well, it’s because of my Mark, you plonker.”

“I’m aware.  I’m also aware that you saved my arse more than once.  And if you can’t use something that you were born with, due to things that were forced upon you as a child, then I see no reason to use magic either.”

“Why do you care so much?”

Draco could hear Harry shifting in the silence.  He suddenly felt the heat of Potter’s body pressed up against his.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.  And not just you, now, in your silver suit that makes your eyes sparkle as bright as the moon, or the other morning on the train, with your warm scarf and your pink cheeks.”  

Harry paused, his thumb caressing the side of Draco’s face.  Even in the dark, he could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.

“I think about you, how you were, in class, on the pitch, that night at Pansy’s.  Your magic is as much as a part of you as my scar is to me, and right now you’re only half-you.”  He swallowed tightly.

The dark was a tricky beast.  Draco could feel Potter’s hot breath on his cheek, his body pressed against his own, but couldn’t see his face.  He couldn’t really know, couldn’t be sure what he wanted. Until Potter said it.

“I want all of you.”

Suddenly, Draco was thankful for the dark, thankful that Harry couldn’t see the hunger in his eyes as he flung himself forward.  He wrapped his arms securely around Harry’s neck, and aimed his lips for the general direction of Harry’s mouth.

He missed, gracelessly snagging a bit of jaw with his teeth.

“Fuck,” Harry moaned as Draco repositioned, adjusting his mouth to nibble at the edge of his throat.  He could smell the scent of lillies as he nuzzled into the collar of Harry’s suit.

Draco’s fingers ran the length of the fabric, itching to pull the threads off of Harry’s shoulders.  He wanted to peel the layers off one by one, exposing the man he thought he knew, the one he wanted to know so deeply, so badly.  He wanted all of him, too.

Hot breath hit Draco’s neck as Harry leaned in towards his ear.  

The dragon on his lapel hissed fire, lighting up the small closet just enough that Draco could marvel at Harry’s hardened chest.  He traced one hand down the muscular ridges, before his finger dipped tantalizingly into the top of Harry’s trousers.

“Yes, Draco, please,” Harry moaned, his voice tight against Draco’s neck as his hands continued to canvas the slick fabric.  

Another breath of fire shot out of his lapels, and Draco managed a glimpse of Harry’s cock, hard and firm in his hand.  

He pulled roughly before lifting his hand, licking a fat stripe on his palm, delving his hand downward again.  The friction was still too much, too harsh without the lubricant Potter could easily - but refused to - conjure with his wand.  

Draco mumbled to himself before he stripped off his jacket and lowered down to his knees.

He heard a muffled sound coming from the rumpled jacket.  It took Draco a moment to realize the phoenix on his cast-aside jacket was singing to them, filling the small space with its beautiful tune.  

He ripped the button off Harry’s trousers, yanking them downward, still feeling his cock in his hand in the darkness.  Draco swallowed hard before he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the hard length.

The dragon breathed from his jacket once more, filling the room with fiery light, and Draco looked up, catching a glance of Potter’s blown green eyes, of his hands reaching to envelope Draco’s head.  

Draco felt fingers wrap into his hair as he focused on the task at hand.  Draco lapped his tongue around the salty tip, tasting Harry for the first time.

He could hear Harry moan above him, his fingers tensing and tugging on his hair.  It sent a shudder down his spine, hearing those noises escape his throat.

Draco opened his mouth wider, determined to take as much of Harry as he could.  He relished in the weight of the heavy cock on his tongue, on the heady taste of Harry on the back of his throat, the melody from the phoenix filling his senses.  

Harry bucked hard as Draco hollowed out his cheeks, sucking hard.  

“Fuck, can’t, not yet,” Harry groaned, hooking two hands under Draco’s arms and dragging him upward.  He pushed Draco against the wall, his hands instantly dropping to the button on his suit, clumsily working Draco’s cock out of the fine fabric.

The dragon’s fire erupted around him again and Draco caught a glimpse of his cock in Harry’s hand.  He gasped at the sight, at the coursing heat pulsing from his touch. Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry’s cock and pulled, twisting his wrist at the tip, listening to the music of Harry’s groans combined with the sweet song projecting from his suit.  

Harry’s voice was hot in his ear as he moaned, “Draco, so close, I’m-”

He twisted his hand once more as he felt Harry shudder.  A bolt of light from the corner erupted, and with it, a vision Draco would never forget.

Harry Potter, green eyes locked on grey, in pure and utter bliss.

It was with that vision that Draco felt his orgasm rip from his core, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him as he came.  

“Yes, fuck, Harry, _yes_.” he bellowed as he spilled his seed all over Harry’s hand, rutting against his palm, taken over by earth-shattering bliss.

They stood for a moment, both sated, Draco still held up against the wall, Harry with his head on Draco’s shoulder, panting deep breaths.  Perhaps it was due to his recent climax, or the fact that Harry was looking at him that way, that Draco didn’t seem to notice.

Didn’t notice that their little closet was becoming engulfed in flames.

“Shit!” Draco cried, trying to stomp out the flaming jacket, but that only seemed to increase the Dragon’s huffs.  The phoenix song was no longer pleasant, and instead resembled more of the high-pitched screech a fire-alarm might make.

It was then that Pansy yanked open the door, exposing the fire, and the closet, and their softening, satisfied cocks to the everyone in the backstage of Luna’s show.  

\--

_One year later_

“Well, it’s a Christmas miracle, alright!” Pansy toasted the group of friends as they mingled together at the little London pub.

“The fact that you and Luna got hitched?” Draco raised his glass.

“Or the fact that we overturned the ruling, and Malfoy can cast his weak hexes again?”  Harry smiled broadly at Draco’s scowl.

“Please, that bat bogey I sent last week would have rivaled the Weaselettes any day.”

Pansy smirked before raising her glass.  “Cheers to you two not killing each other for the whole year you’ve been fucking.”

Luna giggled. “It sure sounded like they were getting close to it when we accidentally walked in on them in their flat last week.”

Pansy choked on her wine.  “Oh yes. What was it? ‘ _Oh_ , Draco, harder, harder, yes, _Draco._ ’”

Both men’s cheeks turned scarlet as they turned their attention towards their dessert.  A Christmas miracle, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods for hosting this fest!
> 
> Thanks to my alpha @nifflers_n_nargles, and my beta @quicksilvermaid, and my britpicker, @lettersbyelise
> 
> Heaping pile of thanks to the artist, @rainsoakedhello, who graciously contributed her art despite not participating in owlpost. She donated this gif to spookywoods, and to this fic. Thank you so much rainsoakedhello!!! Your work is stunning!


End file.
